Ames and Cobb were excited. Joel had been able to give them a description,
albeit a rather poor one, but he’d also been able to give them a rough sketch
of the tattoo the man had on his hand, and that was something that they
could look into.

They ignored the dagger-like stares of Joel’s parents as they stood up
quickly, their movements taking on an almost frenzied speed, and rushed out of
the room, murmuring thanks to Joel as they went. Joel was just glad to be rid
of them. The pain had returned, and he was overcome with weakness again. Sleep
overcame him as Karen wordlessly maneuvered the notebook from his hands and
walked briskly out of the room, trying to catch up to Ames and Cobb.

Ames had a feeling that he had seen the mark before, but he couldn’t
remember where. Maybe if he looked at it again… Wait, where was the sketch?

“Damn it, Cobb, we forgot the sketch.” They both turned and nearly bowled
over a panting Karen, who thrust the note book at them. Cobb and Ames smiled.
“Thanks Karen. See you back at the station.”

They turned and continued out of the hospital and on to their car. Ames took
the passenger seat and examined the sketch more closely as Cobb started the
engine and headed out of the parking lot, turning towards the station.

“Recognize something, Ames ? ” Cobb asked, amused at his partner’s look of
complete perplexity as he peered at the sketch.

Ames sighed and reluctantly moved his eyes away from the sketch. “I dunno.
It looks so familiar.” He shook his head. “But I can’t put my finger on it
right now.” He rubbed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest.

“What a day. I’ll be glad when we can get some rest. What time is it,
anyway?”

Cobb glanced at the green clock in the dash. “’Bout 4:30,” he said. “No rest
‘til we get this thing straightened out though – I’ve got a feeling we’re on
to something. We need to finish this out as soon as we can. This is a make-it-
or-break-it case for us, you know?”

Ames gave a low snore as a response, and Cobb smiled. Might as well let him
sleep for the few minutes it would take them to get to the station. It would
hopefully clear his head enough to help him remember where he’d seen the
tattoo before.

The station was clearing out when they arrived. It was quitting time for
many of the administrative workers, and the parking lot was becoming deserted
as they pulled in.

Their first stop was Foster’s office. She was on the phone when they
entered.

“I understand that, Mrs. Mendocino. I will speak to them. Of course. If you
have any other concerns, please just give me a call. I know… you’ll be the
first to know. And if your son happens to think of anything else, please let
us know. OK, you have a nice day, and I am sorry about your son… Bye bye.”

Foster exhaled slowly as she laid the handset down. “That was Joel
Mendocino’s mother. She was upset because you stormed in and disturbed her
son.” She looked up at them pleadingly. “Was it really necessary to barge in
there like you did?”

“We ran into a complete dead end, Lieu. We figgered the kid could probably
give us more information than he already had, and based on other things we
were able to find out, we think this case may be bigger than just a simple
mugging.”

“Really? What have you found?”

Both Cobb and Ames pulled out their notebooks, scanning the cluttered pages
for reminders of the day’s conversations. “Well, we got confirmation that the
dead victim is homeless. His name is Darryl; we weren’t able to get a last
name. He’s in and out of St. Ives, a homeless shelter down around McAllister
Park .”

Ames continued, “We went and talked to a number of homeless people in the
area, especially down on 59 th , and they all told us stories of some
‘abductions,’ for lack of a better word, of homeless people these lat few
weeks. Seems they all show up a day later, all beat up. Apparently it happened
to Darryl, but no one we spoke to could tell us if it somehow related to his
death.”

Ames paused, and Cobb interjected again. “Both of us feel like the
abductions and Darryl’s death are related, but we’re not sure how yet…”

“But this,” Ames said, slamming the sketchbook down on Foster’s desk
excitedly. “May be the link between everything. Joel Mendocino was able to
sketch this for us. He said that the man who’d shot him had that symbol
tattooed on his hand.”

Foster held the sketch up to the light, examining it more closely. She
frowned. “You said there have been a lot of abductions lately?”

Ames nodded. “Is it possible that Darryl told someone a little too much
about his experience and they had to have him killed?”

Cobb smiled. “That’s what we’re thinking.”

“Well, check with Organized Crime,” Foster said, handing the sketch back to
Ames . “See if the sketch rings any bells with them. If these abductions are
related, then there’s probably a kingpin involved somewhere along the line. OC
might know something about it.”

Ames and Cobb nodded before turning and exiting the office, walking to their
own desks in the main office. The station was still populated, but the usual
bustle of the day had calmed down substantially since everyone had gone home.

Cobb picked up his phone and dialed the extension for the Organized Crime
division as Ames headed back towards the records room. “Hi, this is Detective
Cobb from Homicide. We got a victim over here, homeless man, possibly related
to a rash of abductions and assaults that’s been happening recently in the
McAllister Park area. One of the shooters had a mark on his hand. We’ve got a
sketch, and we were wondering if you guys could take a look and see if you
recognize it. Sure. OK, I’ll do it right now.”

He out down the receiver. “They want me to fax it over.” He walked over to
the fax machine and fed the paper quickly through. Ames returned carrying a
stack of folders and sat down, poring through them.

“These are reports from some of the other assaults that have been reported
by hospitals recently. Most of them are from McAllister Park , which isn’t
surprising in and of itself, but here’s something interesting. There are other
reports of assault-like wounds from some middle-aged businessmen from the same
day or the day following the same report from a homeless man. Coincidence?”

Cobb glanced over Ames ‘ shoulder at the cluttered data in front of them.
“So what are you thinking?”

“I dunno. But it seems strange to me that a bunch of businessmen get beat
up, and a bunch of homeless men get beat up, all at the same time, and nobody
wants to press charges or talk about it. Hell, a lot of them made excuses
like, ‘I fell down the stairs,’ or some bullshit like that.”

The phone rang, shattering their contemplation. Cobb picked up. “This is
Cobb. Uh-huh. Really? So soon, huh? Great. Yeah, fax it over. You say there’s
a unit over in the area right now? OK, yeah, I’ll do that. OK, thanks a lot.
Bye.”

Ames looked up from his reading excitedly.

“Well, we got a match,” Cobb said, walking over to the fax machine, where a
copy of a police report was spitting out. “The OC guys said there’s an
warehouse over on Delome that has been investigated by some blue and whites
for the past couple of weeks. A woman has been calling to complain about noise
coming from it for awhile, but by the time the blue and whites get out there,
there’s nothing to be seen.”

“But how does this tie into the tattoo, and what does OC have to do with it?
And furthermore, what’s a woman doing living down on Delome?”

Cobb chuckled. The old industrial section of the city centered around Delome
Avenue , and it was generally considered to be one of the worst places in the
city to live, but some residents refused to move.

“Well, OC started looking into it because there was a major OC-related drug
bust around the area, and they’re thinking the entire area is probably used by
gangs and whatnot for all kinds of nefarious activities. So they had a few of
their guys look into it, and he remembers seeing a symbol sort of like the
tattoo on the shooter’s hand etched into a door on one of the warehouses. They
sent a blue and white out there tonight to keep an eye on things, and see if
they could figure out what’s going on. What do you say we join ‘em.”

“Worth a shot, I guess. Strange that a mark like that would be etched in a
door, but whatever. Thank God for small miracles, I suppose. Let’s go.”

Chapter 22: Disappearance

The silence that had followed James’ story was finally broken by Holly’s
expression of thanks. She stood up slowly, reaching her hand towards the
grizzled storyteller.

“Thank you, James, for telling us about this.”

“Wal, I figgered somebody oughtta know. Somethin’s got to be done, I think.
I mean, most folks don’t seem to care too much about us down here, but still,
it just ain’t right for us to get kidnapped and beat up like we do. Anyway, I
hope maybe you all can tell the right people…”

Holly smiled as she released his hand. Ned nodded in acknowledgement and
thanks as he and Holly turned around, looking for Ned and Ken. They weren’t
sitting behind them where they had been initially. Where had they gone?

Holly glanced around frantically and began to call Ernie’s name. Ned calmed
her down. “Holly… maybe they’ve just gone to the van… let’s just go and
look.” He took her hand and led her towards the van. Holly wasn’t calm. The
stress of the day was finally catching up to her. She needed a stiff drink –
very stiff.

And now Ernie had disappeared! Her emotional side had taken over, leaving
rationality by the wayside, and Ned’s confidence was not as comforting as it
ordinarily was. She continued to look around as Ned dragged her towards the
van, and called Ernie’s name at increasing volume even after they had left the
bounds of the bridge community.

Ned, unlike Holly, still had a sense of rationality despite the straining
and confusing events of the day. Perhaps it was the fact that he was an
engineer, a professional, perhaps it was that he was male, but whatever the
reason, he was dealing with the situation as calmly and coolly as could be
expected.

Upon their arrival at the van, he peered around, looking for signs of Ernie
and Ken both in and around the vehicle, but he found none. And Ken’s bike
wasn’t in the back. His initial reason for going to the van was to see if the
bike was still there, but upon inspection, he remembered that Ken had insisted
that he remove it when they had arrived. Holly was growing increasingly
agitated, allowing the worry of her maternal instinct get the best of her.

“Holly! Cal m down! I am going to go back and see if they went to the east
side of the bridge. I’ll be back in a few minutes. You wait here in case they
come back. OK?”

Holly nodded reluctantly in response. Ned made sure she was comfortable in
the passenger seat of the van, then turned and walked back towards the bridge.
He made his rounds, following roughly the same path that the quartet had made
earlier in the day, but no one had seen Ernie or Ken for quite some time. Some
people reported seeing them ride off on the bike about 45 minutes ago, so
Ned’s suspicion that they had left of their own accord was satisfactorily
answered.

He returned to the van and continued to try and calm Holly, reassuring her
that both Ernie and Ken were not stupid, that they knew this area of town
well, that they had most likely ridden home on their own; they were fine.

Holly didn’t seem to believe him, but she reluctantly calmed down and agreed
that they should drive home. She could call St. Ives from home and make sure
Ernie was back. Ned was glad when he finally spun the wheel and maneuvered his
way back onto the road. He wanted to get home and have a stiff drink himself.

When he reached Holly’s small apartment, he debated whether or not to leave
her alone. She had calmed down considerably during the trip, and assured him
that she’d be fine. If she felt she needed anything, she’d call him and let
him know. She exited the van and waved half-heartedly as she opened the door
to her apartment building and entered.

Ned felt like he needed to calm his nerves, and driving had always been a
good way to do that, so he decided to take the long route home. His mind
wandered back to his homeland as he drove.

One of the core reasons that he and Lavina had emigrated to America was to
escape the violence that had plagued their country. Thankfully, neither Ned
nor Lavina had ever experienced the violence firsthand, but they had heard
terrible stories of roving “death gangs” that would travel around, raping,
beating and robbing anyone who got in their path. If they didn’t physically
kill you, they’d do enough psychological damage that it was essen tially the
same.

Ned shook his head. America was not the land of promise that he had hoped
and dreamed it would be when he had contemplated the move from his European
home. America was no better than the rest of the world – it had the same
vices, the same violence and depravity, the same distaste for the less
fortunate. No, America was not the land he had been promised.

He approached the small house that his family called home and parked the van
on the street on the next block. His six children poured out of the front door
of the house, the older ones smiling in warm welcome, the youngest running up
to him and attaching themselves steadfastly to his legs. It had been an entire
day! How had they ever gotten along without him?

He walked, children in tow, towards their home. Lavina stood in the doorway,
a strange expression of disapproval on her round face. Ned entered the house
and hugged her close, ignoring the children’s burst of laughter as he swept
her back and kissed her fiercely on the lips. What a wonderful family they had
created – together!

But it soon became apparent that Lavina was not in the mood to revel in the
marvelous nature of their family. She pushed him away and said, “Someone is on
the phone for you. Young and she sounds upset.”

Ned sighed. Lavina had so many astonishing qualities, but she was jealous.
She thought that every young America n girl was on a personal mission to steal
her husband away, and she fought fiercely for her man, though Ned knew that
battle had been won long, long ago.

He walked into the small living room, sitting down heavily on the chair that
was his. The children did try, on many occasions, to claim it for themselves,
but it was well acknowledged among all members of the family that when Ned was
home, the chair was his, and no one else’s.

He was looking forward to a few minutes of relaxation on the chair, then it
would be time to do something really fun – work on the Jetta and get it up and
running again. He grinned just at the thought of getting under the hood and
immersing his hands in the greasy machinery.

He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Ned…” It was Holly, and she was crying. “I called St. Ives, and they said
he isn’t there! He hasn’t come home yet! Ned, something’s wrong, I know it. I
can’t explain it, but I know something isn’t right!”

“OK, what do you want to do?” Ned was tired, but he knew he couldn’t just
let her sit in her apartment, by herself, and worry. No, he had an obligation,
as both a friend and a man, to help her – to make sure she felt like she was
helping the situation – if there even was a “situation.”

“Let’s go look for him. Maybe he’s hurt or something, you know, and if we
could just…”

“Holly, he’s probably OK – the chances of something happening are just
so…”

“ Dammit, Ned! I know he’s not OK!” she screamed into the
phone, forcing Ned to move the handset away from his hear in a self-preserving
reflex.

“OK, OK, we’ll go looking for him. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

“Thanks Ned.”

“OK. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“OK, bye.”

“Bye.”

He set the handset gently back on it’s rest, and laid his head back on the
chair, closing his eyes blissfully for a few seconds. Well, rest, relaxation,
and the Jetta would have to wait.

He stood up and called to Lavina. “I have to go out. Holly is worried about
one of the homeless guys she knows, and I’m going to go help her look for him.
I should be back in a couple of hours or so.”

Lavina met him in the hallway with yet another disapproving gaze. Out with a
beautiful young woman, no doubt. Well, this one wouldn’t steal her husband
away, oh no. She’d make sure of that.

Ned shook his head, knowing what she was thinking. “You needn’t worry,
darling. You’re the only woman for me.” He reached for her but she pulled
away. Oh well, someday she’d get over it.

“OK, well I will see you and the children when I get back. Children, be
good, obey your mother, and I’ll be back soon.” A chorus of acknowledgments
came from various corners of the house, and he turned, threw his jack over his
shoulders, and stepped out into the darkness.